Scout nodded once.
“We didn’t find her because she wasn’t there.”
“Maybe,” Burke said.
He flipped open the file.
Inside, old reports and yellowing statements had been tabbed years ago in Burton Scott’s careful block handwriting.
CAR / WITNESS / MERCER / FAMILY
Burke’s fingers tightened on the file.
“Lila Grant says we didn’t find her because we were too busy protecting David Mercer.”
That landed hard.
Sara stared at him. “Tell me she didn’t actually say that on camera.”
Nobody answered.
After a second, Sara looked back down at the file.
“That was before me,” she said. “What actually happened?”
Scout pulled the car-scene photo from the file and slid it across the table.
A gray sedan sat angled toward the guardrail on Highway 74.
“Found here,” he said. “Just past the river bend.”
“Flat tire,” Luke added, scanning the report.
“Purse inside,” Scout said.
“Phone in the console. Keys still in the ignition,” Luke read.
Sara frowned.
“She just vanished?”
“No blood. No signs of a fight,” Burke said.
He turned another page.
“Paramedic driving to shift said the car wasn’t there at eleven that night.”
Luke followed the line with his finger.
“Then saw it on his way home at six in the morning.”
“A seven-hour window,” Sara said softly.
The room went quiet again.
Jenkins, lingering in the doorway with a cup of burnt coffee, shook his head.
“Her daddy reported her missing before noon. Then spent the next year papering every pole and gas station between here and Asheville.”
